by Kyndreth » Mon Mar 13, 2017 6:56 am
It is cold, and wet. No, no, it is miserably cold and wet. Damn it all to hell! It is a rank, miserable day that the thrice-be-damned abyssals will exult in! It has been drizzling steadily in the past hour. My boots are soggy and waterlogged. My clothes are soaked because that nitwit rogue and blasted warmonger have spent all the funds and so we have subpar cloaks no thicker (and barely more functional) than a harlot’s linens. Thank god I had the foresight to buy an enchanted travel-proof bag and notebook, else I wouldn’t be writing this in it, now would I?
It is bad enough that I am utterly, miserably, cold and wet, but that’s not the worst of it. Hohoho, not by far. I tell you, I am cursed, and it all started since I joined up with these addle-pated so-called adventurers! Here I sit, in a puddle of muddy water, hiding in a field of boulders, scribbling fiercely into my journal, because some stupid rogue thought stealing the Archmagus’ shinies three cities back was a great idea! Can you believe it!?! And he never told us until after we had to fight off three mysterious squads of suspiciously well-trained men, four packs of hellhounds, and a summoned demon!
That warmongering troll-wannabe is laughing her head off again. She thinks this is funny! She thinks this is the best thing ever! If I thought there was a chance the Archmagus would just forget me if I ran off, I would turn them in right now, no hesitation. Sadly… That wonderful, beautiful, glorious staff of the Eldergleam tree was bought with the filthy money from selling off the Archmagus’ precious jewels and a couple of magic foci! Why did such a beautiful thing have to be bought with that vile rogue’s money? Now that I know where the money came from… Damn it Gerey! You sullied my staff!
Eward grimaced as he scribbled furiously into his journal. His endless litany of complaints was interrupted by a twinge as one of his alarm wards warned him of approachers. He clenched his fist, snapped his journal shut, and fixed his glasses.
“Head’s up guys, we’ve got incoming. Seven people at Two O’clock arriving in approximately five minutes.”
To his right, Gerey the rogue tossed his dagger up in the air and caught it with a grin. To his left, Joyce, their one and only fighter did the same with her giant greataxe. Eward put his book away, sighed, and put his face in his hands. Screw this life. Maybe if he died he could find himself less troublesome companions. Even if he became a ghost, it’d be nice if he could just wander elsewhere, immerse himself in some forest somewhere and become a forest spirit or something. Unfortunately, their adventurer party, the Chaos Bringers, was officially registered at the Adventurers Guild. From now on, he would always be recognized as affiliated with these two knuckle-brains.
“Mother always told me to get a good education and become a government official, but noooo I wanted to be an Adventurer!” Eward furiously thought to himself. “Adventurers are cool! They fight monsters, travel the world, and get rich!”
“Dammit, why couldn’t I have been some farmer in some backwater village?” Eward muttered.
“Ye'd 'ave missed out on th' 'onor of meetin' th' glorious Me!” Gerey replied.
“Yes, that would have been so terrible.” Eward responded with a lifeless voice.
Gerey and Joyce grinned at each other before turning to scan their surroundings.
“Only seven people, huh?” Joyce remarked to herself.
“What do you mean only? And don’t sound so disappointed.” Eward hissed at her.
"Oh quit yer bleatin' ya pansy ass flower boy!" Gerey huffed.
"Hellfires Gerey, it's seven men this time but what about next time!? And don't call me a flower boy! I'm a druid!"
"Seven marks this time, an' a fuller purse next time! 'sides, Joyce 'ere's been spoilin fer a fight. Ye' ain't wanter disappoint a lady d'ye?"
"Please let them be strong, please don't let em be puppies like the last group!"
"See? She's even prayin' fer this!" Gerey beamed.
Eward groaned as he dragged his hands down his face.